FUCK YOU 2. - by Bigdan

It was that beautiful evening. I had just returned from work. It was Cover Meeting day, that beautiful, chaotic day when editors from different genres sit around a table and decide which stories are strong enough, juicy enough, important enough, controversial enough or simply interesting enough to make the cover of the magazine. I had just written on designers. Yes, designers. I cover Showbiz and Entertainment. Bloody bastard, I am good at it. Give me an actor, an artist, a scandal, a breakup, a comeback, a beef, a podcast, a reality show or one celebrity who has suddenly started posting motivational quotes after a public disaster, and I will give you a story. But fashion? Fashion has always felt like a woman's department to me. Not because men cannot understand fashion. No. But because fashion has always looked like one of those complicated conversations where a woman can look at another woman and say, “I love the way the silhouette falls on the body,” and I, standing beside them, will be wondering if they are discussing a dress or a political ideology. Then I watched The Devil Wears Prada 2. And something happened. I looked at myself. “Dan,” I said. “You own everything Showbiz.” I paused. “Conquer every aspect of it.” And so, I began. Quill in ink. Sorry. Fingers to keypad. I started writing. Designers. I typed the word. I stared at it. I deleted it. I typed it again. Designers. I stared at it a second time. Then I told myself: FUCK YOU. I can't do this. And then inspiration came. Not from the heavens. Not from Vogue. Not from Anna Wintour. From the word itself. FU is half of FUBU. CK is Calvin Klein. I sat up. “Dan!” This was it. FUCK YOU. And suddenly, the story began. Because sometimes, you don't need to know everything before you begin. Sometimes, you just need to start. Sometimes, the thing you think is beyond you is simply waiting for you to approach it from a different angle. Sometimes, you are staring at a word and thinking, “I cannot understand this.” Then suddenly, you realise that the word has been waiting for you to break it apart. FU. CK. And just like that, fashion became a story. But perhaps, fashion has always been a story. Because what we wear is rarely just what we wear. We wear clothes, but clothes also wear us. A suit can make a man sit differently. A dress can make a woman walk into a room with an entirely different confidence. A jersey can turn an ordinary person into a supporter, a soldier, a member of a tribe. A designer label can make someone feel important before they have even said a word. A pair of sneakers can tell you where someone comes from, where they are going, or how badly they want you to believe they have already arrived. We wear colours. We wear brands. We wear symbols. We wear uniforms. We wear our cultures. We wear our communities. We wear the things we can afford and, sometimes, the things we cannot afford but desperately want people to believe we can. We wear confidence. We wear insecurity. We wear success. We wear heartbreak. We wear “I am fine” when we are absolutely not fine. We wear the clothes our parents bought us. Then we grow up and begin buying the clothes that tell the world who we think we have become. But the most interesting thing about what we wear is that sometimes, we are not the ones choosing the clothes. Sometimes, society dresses us. It gives us a shirt and says, “You are the responsible one.” It gives us a jacket and says, “You are the successful one.” It gives us a crown and says, “You must never fail.” It gives us a uniform and says, “You belong here.” It gives us a label and says, “This is who you are.” And we wear it. Every day. Even when it no longer fits. That is the dangerous thing about labels. They can be comfortable. People can look at you and say, “This is Dan. He writes Showbiz.” And then, one day, Dan decides to write about fashion. And suddenly, the voice in his head says: “Who told you that you could do that?” But who told you? Who told you that you were only one thing? Who told you that you could only be good at the thing people already knew you for? Who told you that because you have always worn one particular outfit, you cannot change your clothes? Who told you that because people have seen you in one version of yourself, you are not allowed to appear in another? Sometimes, you have to undress yourself from the identities people have placed on you. Not literally. Although, depending on the situation, literally too. You have to remove the shirt that says, “I cannot.” The trousers that say, “This is not for me.” The shoes that say, “I should stay in my lane.” And then you have to stand there, exposed to the terrifying possibility that perhaps you can become something else. Maybe you can write fashion. Maybe you can build a company. Maybe you can start again. Maybe you can love again. Maybe you can leave. Maybe you can stay. Maybe you can become the person you have been quietly imagining when nobody is watching. The world will always try to dress you. Your family will have an outfit for you. Your friends will have an outfit for you. Your industry will have an outfit for you. Your past will have an outfit for you. Your failures will even have an outfit for you. But at some point, you have to ask yourself: What am I wearing because I chose it? And what am I wearing because somebody else told me it was who I was? Because the truth is, we are all constantly getting dressed. Not just in the morning. Every single day. We wake up and decide who we are going to be. The ambitious one. The funny one. The strong one. The unavailable one. The one who doesn't care. The one who cares too much but pretends not to. The one who has everything figured out. The one who is still trying to find the right outfit. And perhaps that is why fashion is so fascinating. Because fashion is not really about clothes. It is about identity. It is about presentation. It is about the strange relationship between who we are, who we want to be and who we want other people to think we are. And sometimes, the best thing you can wear is a little audacity. The audacity to try something you have never tried before. The audacity to enter a room where nobody expects you. The audacity to say, “I have never done this before, but I will learn.” The audacity to look at a word like FUCK YOU and discover FUBU and Calvin Klein hiding inside it. That is what happened to me. I was trying to write about designers. I got stuck. Then I found a story. And suddenly, I understood something. Maybe the things we think are ugly, confusing or impossible are sometimes just things we have not learned how to look at yet. Maybe the problem is not always the outfit. Maybe it is the way we have been taught to see it. So, yes. I wrote about fashion. And yes, I may still look at some fashion terminology and wonder if everybody in the room secretly understands something I don't. But I am here now. And I am learning. Because the world is too big for one identity. Your life is too big for one job. Your talent is too big for one box. And you are certainly too big for the clothes other people have decided you should wear forever. So, wear the suit. Wear the native. Wear the sneakers. Wear the designer. Wear the thrift. Wear the thing your mother hates. Wear the thing your friends don't understand. Wear the thing that makes you feel like yourself. And if anyone asks you who gave you permission? Tell them: Nobody. You dressed yourself. And if they still don't understand? Well... FU is half of FUBU. CK is Calvin Klein. And sometimes, the only way to discover a new version of yourself is to look at the old one and say: FUCK YOU. <blockquote>Now you understand why i said... Goodnight Bolu Wa Tifeh FU... let's talk CK YOU tomorrow y'all.... No disrespect. New Insight Loading...</blockquote> But Wait... Not too fast.What designers would you wear that starts with;YOU

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